


After case

by Sharku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean - Freeform, M/M, Plot, Sam Being Sam, Short Story, Unfinished, a case, cas, dean worries, implied dean/cas, out of the older ones, simple, slight plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharku/pseuds/Sharku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, as caring as he won't ever admit, tried to help Cas. Only this time, Cas disappeared and a new case popped up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After case

**Author's Note:**

> I tried plot.  
> Plot didn't try me.

"Cas, you don't have to do this," His breath slipped, "I'll take care of it. Me and Sammy both, we'll fix this!"  
"No, Dean, I have to." His eyes looked directly back at him a somewhat strange staggering stare, "It's my own family. There's no telling what they could do." Cas didn't look back, walking down the field into thin air. Dean just stared, not a single flinch, only a heavy feeling of intercurrence over his shoulders.  
  
It hasn't been too long since he left. And what could Dean do? Absolutely nothing, just pray under his breath that the angel's okay.   
  
Even the road signs reminded him of Cas. The nights, kicking the beer, he would drown in his room, watching some kind of sentimental drama bullshit. He really didn't care about what Sammy would say to him, but right now, between him and the stuffed walls of his "room", he wanted to drown in alcohol.   
  
He ran his hand through his face, trying to stay awake. Without any thought, he glanced at his perfect silver caliber wolf pistol on the nightstand. Huh, he'd think about death. But then Sammy, and he couldn't die _now.  
_  
As his hand rested on the sofa corner, he could hear every reason screaming at him to go after Cas. Why? He's his friend. The angel that saved him so many times, right now, refusing help.  
  
Fuck, he blocked it. _Again._  
  
Eyelids becoming heavy of the feeling of tiredness, he turned the TV off. Sitting, he felt guilty. And he knew he'd never get a good night's rest.  
  
 "Dean," He heard a voice, just sudden, Sammy's, "You're spacing out. Everything okay?" Dean glanced up at the white ceiling, almost ignoring the question.   
  
Neon light covered the walls, a familiar smell of bar served beer.   
  
"I'm fine, fine." Repeating the phrase, he took a glance around the bar. The people did look at both of them, the bartender, standing behind the stall and probably flirting with some young chick. "You find anything?" Asking, he referred to Sam's computer, pointing at the screen. Sam's eyes wondered off of Dean and back on his computer screen showing a picture of a police station down in Ohio.  
  
"Listen to this-" Sam said, "Three policemen killed in only two hours, creature-like wounds around their chests couldn't be explained."   
"Werewolf?" Dean asked, squinting to see his beloved impala standing outside.   
"No, can't be. These wounds are too small for a werewolf bite." Sam turned the computer around for Dean to actually see the pictures.   
  
Three, in total. All the same, a man, lying soulless on the floor, identically broken left shoulder bone sticking out of the body. Otherwise the body wasn't harmed, just the shoulder. They seemed cleaned up, after closer examination there was a trace of something blue over the bone.   
  
"I don't know, any ideas?" Dean said, looking annoyed by something as he fixed his denim jacket again. He couldn't shake that annoying feeling off of him.   
"Dude, you've been acting strange ever since Cas went back to heaven," Dean clicked his teeth, of course Sam would notice, he's not stupid, "Are you sure you're okay?"  
"I'm _peachy_ , Sam." An angry tone, staring right at his eyes.  
“Seriously?” Sam couldn’t help but to look stupid, smiling, _“Peachy?”  
_  
“I meant I’m fine.”  
  
Dean got up from the seat, tucking his hands in his jeans, "I'm going to get some _air."_ Saying that, he left, leaving Sam sitting with his laptop.   
  
He really didn't know how to deal with that. He just thought it's going to be like always-Cas was going to come back. Show up from nowhere and then disappear.   
  
Because it's how it's always been.   
Dean hated caring. But he still did.  
  
Damn, he wished Cas was safe. Just that, that he didn't get into trouble.  
  
The air was cold, cool, a small breeze. The roads, quiet. No cars around, the dead of night. A row of street lights, illuminating the road ahead. Maybe the black cars passing by didn't notice him crossing the road, but at least he didn't get killed.  
  
"Dean!" Again, there it is!  
 _"What?!"_ He yelled back, glancing around for the source of the voice.  
"You're spacing out again." _Sammy._ In his FBI suit, black, polished. And that usual stupid tie. In pure daylight they were surrounded by a clean and moaned lawn, a few tall trees.   
  
 _"Right,"_ Dean sighted, "Where's the sheriff?"

  
"Out of town, apparently." Sam pointed to the festival sign above their heads, as Dean glanced up, seeing a green poster with white letters, _Fall festival._  
"So the dude's out partying while his buddies are getting killed? Must be a fun guy to be besties with." He brushed off his suit jacket, turning around back to the police station. A typical, gray building. “Let’s go, the faster we do this case, the faster no one dies.”  
  
“If you say so.” Sam answered, tucking his phone into his own pocket, following Dean through the glass doors.  
  
As they walked in, Dean first noticed the odd smell coming from the building. It’s…not sulfur, but a somewhat lavender-grass-mud smell. It wasn’t pleasant, but only Dean noticed it. He glanced at Sammy, then around the room – several policemen, phones ringing, a thick smell of coffee.  
  
“Sheriff McCoy?” Sam spoke first, while Dean was spacing out. He tried politely, as the sheriff turned around from his desk, taking the coffee to his lips, and then slowly putting the cup down. He looked around forty, maybe even sixteen, in an old dark brown jacket. His face showed wrinkles, a slightly angry stare, suspicious. Hair grayed out and hidden by his black cowboy hat, he seemed at least human.   
  
“Yes?” He answered.  
  
“We’re from the FBI, I’m agent Jones and this is Agent Carter,” Sam, as polished as ever, did the same introduction, as Dean smiled, lifting his badge up to the old ex-sheriff together with Sam. He took a closer look, inspecting the badge, almost doubting. “We’re here about the recent murder in a nearby police station.”  
  
“I didn’t know FBI was interested in small town murderers,” The sheriff said in a low, grungy voice. Dean noticed a cigarette pack next to the computer, explaining his voice probably.  
  
“Yeah, we’d just like to ask a few questions about the bodies. For research purposes.” Sam said, barely smiling. The old sheriff took a cigarette out of his box, taking a silver lighter from his pocket, lighting his cigarette. A quick blow, as his heavy eyes glanced at them both standing there like two suitors in front of a fresh bride. “Ask, then.”  
  
“The reports said this happened inside, at four o’clock in the middle of the day. Were there any witnesses?” The older Winchester asked, keeping his gaze straight.  
  
“Ah, there was a woman who claimed she saw one of them yelling about something through the glass window,” He blew the smoke out from his lips, bringing the cigarette back again, “Then she started saying one of them flew up in the air.” He chuckled, adding, “That’s rather stupid, but she was probably just shocked.”   
  
_Flew?_ Dean thought, that’s an option. “What was her name?” He asked, they could question her after the police station. This gives them a head start.   
  
“Martha Baker, lives not too far from Bedford, Erwin street.” The old man took out a records book, ripping a piece of paper out, writing an address.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean leaned onto his ear, out of the blue, glancing over at the window, “Someone’s following us.”  
  
“How do you know?” Sam asked, turning his head to the same window, but he saw nothing here, just the trees.  
 _“I just do.”_  
  
“Here you go.” The sheriff handed Sam the address with slightly shaky palms. Sam thanked him, then he added, “Any more questions?”  
  
“Could we see the bodies?” Sam asked.  
  
“I’m afraid not today,” He answered Sam, glancing through the window, “There’s been an accident, so I can’t let you boys in.”


End file.
